In 1987, I was given the exciting news that our family was to travel to Colorado. As a 12-year-old boy I automatically thought this meant a trip to Disneyland. I had no idea, at that time or age, of the distances involved, and when I found out Disneyland was too far away for us to fit in a visit, I was naturally disappointed.
The people we were to visit were friends of my mum from her university days – they hadn’t seen each other for 10 years. I had no memories of their last get together, as I would have been just two at the time.
We flew out on a Jumbo Jet – my first time. I had a window seat and I really enjoyed the whole experience. Flying was tiring but fun.
We met up with Mum’s friends, settled down and after a days rest we visited a couple of local tourist attractions. OK, it wasn’t Disneyland but I soon found that Colorado was a fantastic place to visit.
Now,m with no corporal punishment at school and just the odd threat of a ‘good hiding’ (that never happened) at home I was not at this stage of my life interested in spanking in any way, shape or form. That was about to change.
The daughter of Mum’s friend was about to turn 14, and that meant a traditional birthday paddling. They really celebrated her birthday in style. Breakfast was a feast, she had gifts and calls from relatives galore. Breakfast was hardly done and her mum was alreadt preparing lunch! A couple of her girlfriends came over, one of whom I fancied rotten and would eventually marry!
Mid-afternoon, the birthday girl’s mother appeared, to cheers, brandishing the family paddle. She called her daughter to present herself for her birthday paddling.
It was all great fun. Her mum gave her 14 swats, as she called them, and we all counted out loud. There was a bit of messing around before the last swat was due, the ‘one to grow on’ as they called it. Her mum hammed it up, took a step back and practiced a full swing.
I thought this was all gamesmanship – I certainly wasn’t prepared for the swat that her mum delivered. It was a full blast, hard swat that had the girl stand bolt upright and clasp her aching bottom. She grimaced in what was obvious discomfort, groaned out loud, took in a breath and rubbed her Daisy Duke-style shorts-covered bum vigorously.
It was that swat that piqued my interest in the act. All the family cheered and she was hugged and kissed by one and all. The term ‘taken like a real trooper’ was used by several of her family. The party continued well into the evening with a BBQ dinner. It was great fun, and I had never eaten so much food before in my whole life!
That night in bed, I could not stop running that last swat over and over in my mind. I became excited enough to cause an erection. What must it feel like, I wondered? Clearly it hurt, judging by the girl’s reaction and the look on her face. I decided that I wanted a bit of the action! I planned to ask my mum if she would do that to me for my birthday when we were back in England. The fact that we didn’t have a paddle at home never entered my head.
Later on in our holiday we were taken to a regular town, not a tourist hotspot. We had a wander, collected some supplies and had lunch. After lunch we walked into a huge store and mooched around. This place was vast and sold everything under the sun.
I was actually looking at American comic books, most of which I had never heard of, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a paddle on the wall, then another, and another. Underneath each paddle on display was a box with several of each type for sale. There were all shapes and sizes. A little shiver of excitement ran through me. I wanted one – for me!
I found Mum and asked if I could show her something. I led her over to the paddles and asked if we could buy one so she could paddle me on my birthday. I was thrilled to bits when Mum agreed. She picked up a paddle with holes running down the centre. It was longer and thinner than our friend\s paddle at home. Mum then picked up the biggest paddle on display and joked that it was more like a cricket bat! She could barely lift it.
We were having a private little discussion and giggle when things began to get interesting. A really lovely, normal, everyday lady asked if we needed any help. She was a sales assisstant. Mum explained we were visiting from England, and how we had witnessed a birthday paddling for the first time. We were looking to purchase a paddle to take home for that reason.
The lady smiled her understanding, and reached for a lighter coloured, broad, flat paddle without holes. Tapping the paddle on her hand, she explained to Mum and myself the differences in size, shape and those with and without holes. She went on to explain she had five children who could all attest to the effect this particular paddle had.
I was enthralled by this lady. She was similar in size, height and shape to my mother – the only real difference was that Mum had blonde hair while that of the sales lady was brown. I wondered how often she paddled her children, and all sorts of strange thoughts and feelings ran through my head at that moment.
She then went into detail about how best to position a naughty boy (indicating at me!) to achieve maximum effect. I found all this paddling talk a turn on. Odd, really, because I had never thought of being spanked or paddled in a sexual context up until then .
The sales lady handed Mum the paddle to feel i’s weight and showed her how to grip it properly. While Mum was swinging the paddle to and fro, the sales lady said quietly, as if imparting a secret: “It can be difficult to keep a straight face when they do the ‘war dance’ after a good paddling.”
Then, out of the blue, she very casually asked: “Would you like to try a swat or two?” Whoa! Hold on a minute! Where did that come from? Mum replied in the positive, but ‘just for a bit of fun’, as we had mentioned the birthday paddling earlier.
The sales lady nodded and said: “Best to try before you buy – that’s my motto!” She then motioned us to follow her. Mum raised her eyebrows and nodded sideways at me, indicating that I should follow the lady. We walked along until she stopped by a large leather armchair, which was for sale.
She patted the arm of the chair looking at me, and told me to bend over and ‘get comfy’. Taking my arm, she sort of guided me and physically adjusted me into a position she was satisfied with. My face was on the seat, my bum poking up over the armrest and my feet on the ground.
I felt the lady’s hand on the inside of my leg as she applied a slight pressure and said: “Spread your legs a little, honey.” I did as I was told. The lady pulled me up slightly, patted my bottom twice and said: “There – the perfect target!” I assume she was talking to Mum at that time, though I must admit I was enjoying the little pats she was giving my behind.
The lady then went into a detailed explanation for Mum’s benefit about how the spanker should never put a swat high or near the recipient’s tail bone. She ran her hand over my raised bottom as she spoke.
“Always aim low and swing with a slight upward motion to catch the fleshy underside of the child’s buttocks. Keep the paddle nice and square to cover as much of his bottom as possible,” she said running her hand across the full width of my upturned bottom. I think she was enjoying her demonstration – I know I was!
She indicated the perfect area to strike by touching my lower bottom cheeks. I got two more little pats, one on each cheek, as she spoke. These felt very nice, and I was getting turned on by all the spanking chat. The assistant was very open and casual, as if she did this every day. Perhaps she did! She added casually: “Stings like hell if you catch them just here – just ask any of my five.”
As I lay relaxed over the arm of the chair the lady demonstrated the correct stance Mum should take, and talked her through delivering an effective spank. Finally, she said: “OK – let’s try a swat!”
Mum said she would, but just for fun/ I didn’t hear the sales lady’s reply. Mum followed the lady’s instructions, took up her stance, tapped my bum twice then gave me a swat. I felt a thud, then a bit of a dull, warm glow or sting. It was quite nice, and I liked it.
The sales lady was enthusiastic. “Oh, well done! That’s a good first swat – perfect placement!” Suddenly she was in front of me. “What did you think of Mom’s first swat?” she asked. I was still bending over, with a slight warmth building inside my jeans. “It was fun.” Which it was. “Uh-huh,” the lady replied sceptically. “Now then, are you a brave enough boy to try one from me?”
I smiled and replied: “Yeah!” “‘Yes ma’am’ is how we answer in these situations,” she corrected me with a new slight air of strictness about her. She looked at me and waited. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. “Good boy. Now stay in position, honey.” I enjoyed that little bit of authority – I think it was her accent.
The lady talked mum through the swing and stance routine again, then asked me if I was ready. “Yes ma’am,” “Good – that’s what I like to hear,” she replied.
I felt her two taps and then, crack! It was like a gunshot going off. Then the burn began to register in my bum and brain. I gasped and scrambled to my feet, hands clasped to my backside, only to see two grinning faces desperately trying not to laugh at my reaction. Mum was biting her bottom lip in amusement!
The burning increased and stung like a dozen wasps – and that was over jeans. Visions of our friends daughter’s face came to mind. “Did you feel that one, honey?” the lady asked,with a smile. I managed a strained ‘yes ma’am’. She nodded her approval of my answer, and had ‘thought so’ written across her face.
She handed the paddle to Mum and said: “That’s that paddle christened.” “Shall we take it?” Mum asked, putting her arm round my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. I nodded, then corrected myself and answered: “Yes ma’am.”
Mum told me later that just before the sales lady gave me that swat, she had winked at her and indicated she was planning a proper swat. Mum admitted to me she nodded her approval, not really knowing how much it would hurt. She admitted feeling a little guilty but tried not to laugh as I shot up holding my bum.
The three of us had a laugh about our educational experience, and Mum purchased that very paddle. The sales lady told me that I had been given the kind of swat her eight-year-old daughter would have received if naughty. Although I was significantly older, she knew I was inexperienced and this was for fun, so had scaled down her swat. I obviously had a look of disbelief on my face at this information, because she asked me if I’d like to try a ‘real swat’?
Although this had all been fun so far, I was still massaging my warm rear end so I declined her kind offer. I left the store with our purchase, a slightly warm bottom and rather dented pride at having made such a fuss over a swat suitable for an eight-year-old girl’s bottom!
Back with our host family in the car, Mum and I told them all about our paddling education. During that drive home there was practically no other topic. I learned that some people called them swats, licks or even pops. It seemed that most parents in the area still used the paddle at home, and it was still used in most of the schools, for all age groups. The paddle, I learned, was part of the American culture, just as the cane was to the British schoolchild.
I mentioned my swat from the sales lady being fit for an eight-year-old girl, which made our host laugh. She threatened me with one suitable for a 12-year-old boy as soon as we got home. I can remember sitting on a numb but tender bottom, contemplating that thought and feeling nervously excited in a sexual way. Paddling, it seemed, had caught my young mind’s interest. I’d experienced two swats, over jeans, and that numb but tender feeling was very nice. However, I do remember thinking that a couple more from that sales lady would have been more than enough to satisfy – and possibly end – my interest in the subject!
Back at the house, we had lemonade and cookies. After more paddle talk, stories and much teasing, daring and laughing, Mum’s friend coralled us all into the lounge and had us all line up for a swat. When I say all, I mean her husband and daughter, myself, my Mum and my Dad! We each got a single play swat.
Mum’s one was an extra good one and she shot up and yelled ‘ouch!’ loudly, which made everyone laugh. I got my third swat of the day, which was pretty much a carbon copy of the one the sales lady had administered. It really did sting and burn, especially on top of two previous swats. I had that numb but tender feeling again. It hurt at first, but after a minute, it felt sort of nice. Three swats, from three different women, in a single day. I was quite proud of that, and have always thought that must be some kind of record.
I must admit that three swatss was more than enough for this 12-year-old boy – I gathered that was the usual amount given in school punishments. Three got your attention and would usually have you in tears, or very close to it. According to our host family, few children received more than three without the experience producing copious amounts of tears.
My mum demanded revenge for her swat, and she finished off the proceedings by giving her friend a swat, which was a cracker. Credit where due, she took it well and said quietly: “Ooh! Good swat, honey!” She gave her bum a brisk rub, which made us all laugh. She across at me. “Best you behave from now on, Mister – your mum is pretty handy with that paddle!”
That was the last of the holiday paddlings in the U.S. We returned home and the paddle next made an appearance on my 13th birthday. Mum applied 13 light swats, which were great fun. Then she asked if I was ready for my ‘one to grow on’ I said I was. Mum gave me easily the hardest swat I had ever experienced. My hands went to my bum immediately. I was laughing, but in that way you do when it hurts! For a few moments I walked around in a little circle, hissing through my teeth. Wow – that stung for real!
Mum playfully scolded me, saying she should really give me a second swat for jumping up without permission. After a bit of playful arguing, I obediently bent over again and got another good swat. Mum was good at this paddling lark – those two hard ones made quite an impact. I felt their effect for the rest of that day.
We never used the paddle for anything other than birthday fun. Mum did me and Dad, Dad did Mum. I have no idea if my parents used it privately in a more overtly sexual scenario but I must admit, my mother did seem quite enthusiastic about spanking!
My last paddling from Mum was on my 18th birthday. By my request and her agreement, she paddled me a bit harder. Some of the swats were back at what I had been told was suitable for a 12-year-old boy, but the last couple brought tears to my eyes. On top of those pretty good 18 swats, Mum placed the one to grow on – low, central and as hard as she could. It would be a long time before my bottom forgot that paddling!
Mum hugged me, wished me a happy birthday and could see I was in a bit of discomfort. “Too much?” she asked. I shook my head. “Perfect!” I replied, and thanked her for my birthday paddling. I had tears in my eyes for several reasons.
At 19 I returned to Colorado to visit pir friends, hoping to once more meet that girl I fancied from seven years previously. I also had a fanciful notion to return to the paddle store to see if the sales lady was still around, but I never got back to that town on that trip. The girl I had fancied had grown into a stunner, and although she was dating casually, it seemed she had held a candle for me too.
We’re married now, living full time in the UK but regular visitors to Colorado. Birthday spankings work both ways in our home. My wife is very good with the paddle, and occasionallysurprises me with a non-birthday paddling. This came about due to my rather obvious enjoyment from receiving my first birthday paddling from her.
By contrast, I give her a birthday paddling once a year and it’s just symbolic fun. She doesn’t much like anything harder than a few play pats!
Every now and then. Maman publishes a story about paddlings – these are my favourites. I sometimes wonder where our old family paddle is. In the loft gathering dust, maybe? Or perhaps in Mum and Dad’s bedroom?
I never saw the sales lady again. Nor, up until now, have I ever been to Disneyland!